killing denouement


technomagicalities and voice-activated insurrection
this is incredibly sick. a 1950s blender modded to recognise a human speaking its language? whirrrr. imagine if this was around in the 1950s? shit would get so feral. or, an orchestra of these with black metal’s finest to multiply the castation anxiety please (this looks way more appealing than it should?) it’s by kelly dobson, who
From the age of four was doing odd jobs such as smashing windows and hauling machine parts from one area of the yard to another. She had machine friends… She is developing a method of personal, societal, and psychoanalytical engagement termed Machine Therapy. (which) is tangentially about the parapraxis of machine design — what machines do and mean for people other than what we consciously designed them to do and be used for“.

Blendie the voice-activated blender!



(cha)osmosis in cairo


“IS THAT THUNDER IN THE DISTANCE?” “NO, IT’S PROBABLY JUST ISRAEL…”
This was of course an early morning joke – we were on a dusty balcony in Ard El Golf, a long way off from the Egyptian-Israeli border. It never did rain and we didn’t find out what the booming noises ever were – not dissimilar to a supersize Iftar cannon, but at completely the wrong time of year. Getting back to Dubai, however I came across something that’s a little less of a joke:

[23 miles off the coast of Gaza, at 15:30pm yesterday] – Israeli Occupation Forces attacked and boarded the Free Gaza Movement boat, the “Spirit of Humanity,” abducting 21 human rights workers from 11 countries, including Noble laureate Mairead Maguire and former U.S. Congresswoman Cynthia McKinney (see below for a complete list of passengers). The passengers and crew are being forcibly dragged toward Israel.


Cairo itself was a really sick experience, albeit an exercise in imbibed hairballs (from two adorable Persian cats) and chaos. Perhaps I went expecting to magically be able to speak 3amiya (colloquial) – I couldn’t, though I got along fine with Fusha and acquired Shami/Khaleeji polymumblings. Towards the end I found it much easier to follow conversations to boot, while still finding more complex (b)olitical ones difficult. Many wonderful people, interesting insights with regards to Egypt-Palestine, good films at the Cairo Refugee Film Festival I volunteered at, unfortunate communions with both the Cairo Scholars list and a toilet bowl (many comparisons to be made from utility to aesthetics no?) an 3oud (!) and a month later, there’s not much to say. Or perhaps I’m still residually exhausted – something in the pollution-meets soundscapes? But here’s a few pictures anyway. Mostly from a mosque in the Khan-el-Khalili area before my camera imploded slightly, magically, if frustratingly coming back to life in the last two days (Flickr, is of course still charmingly blocked in the UAE).

more: (CHA)OSMOSIS?



the magic of bluestockings + the Magical Autonomous Zone


My life feels marginally more sorted now. only just, though. berlin is semi-certain but still up in the air. dubai in summer seems very likely. magic is back, in a really good way. Instead of fieldworking in summer in dubai – not on labour or domestic worker abuse or anything that involves asking the ‘wrong’ questions and getting my family kicked out, I will now thesisise on anarchist spaces and magic though a theory (yet to be fully developed) of the Magical Autonomous Zone. Probably in the city – places like Bluestockings, 123, ABC No Rio? But also taking that outside – into homes, into collective projects and into the street.

more: the Magical Autonomous Zone?



GRANAD(A): unfreezing language


I. why can’t all words be beautiful? why can’t every text message be a communiqué, and every email a psychospiritual manifesto? when will we unplug our computers and throw our phones out of the 37th floor window?

II. SCUM advocated the cutting up of men. is language male; should discourse too be castrated? in the semantics of state violence, peace is the punctuation between performances of war. war is our oldest and lengthiest word poem; it does not yet and can not meet an end. we are always at war. i am at war with you as i am at war with myself.

III. goethe once said that beautiful architecture is like frozen music. how do we pull these structures down to let the polyphony play? athens is burning, and our metropolis is not, yet. if not fires then what kinds of incendiary creative devices? if rupture is to reveal structure, how can we punctuate language itself? radical hyphenisation will become revolutionary hymenisation and punctuation marx will become insurrectionary interrobangs.

IV. whose empire is it anyway? the sun set on a British empire with a full stop. will this American period ever end? today we are post discliplinary and our former imperial soap moulds have become incontrovertible modalities. late stage capitalism is a dying red star; will we all become cyborgs wired in place?

V. why is our nation in a subsistential crisis while yours is in an existential crisis? next comes the crisis of resistance, and it will not be our crisis but theirs.

VI. we are made of soil and air and hydrocarbons. each one of us could be a hydrogren bomb. every heart could be a revolutionary cell. we’re tired of language and we’re tired of talking. when we stand up we reaffirm our spatio-temporal relations to Institution and Empire. when we rise up, we flow.

- GRANAD(A)
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there will be no explosion except for a concept?



in the beginning was the language, and the language was gravity


In the beginning was the language, and the language was gravity. Before the beginning was infinite violence. When violence met language, there was conflict; at once collision and collusion. Conflict became a reproductive space of exchange, and atomisation became the original sin. We learnt what evil was, and it was the One.

Gravity meanwhile was inscribed into (celestial) bodies, becoming the first legal contract between them. So it is that particles collide to produce fragmented planets and people, in an exchange of violent energy. Humans similarly collide to exchange pleasantries, and sometimes bodily fluids. On the level of language, morphemes collide to exchange ejaculations of speed and to reproduce meaning. In the eighteenth century, these forms might have been approached through money, character and root.

Yet this beginning is simply the beginning of the rational, instinctual Man-form, and its subsequent trajectory through time and space. Following Nietzsche, the universe itself is a monster of energy without beginning, without end, not expanding but constantly transforming, in an infinite play of forces, and waves of forces which work like concepts to create embodied affects. Violence is this monstrous energy.

our own material world is like an atomised pomegran(i)te, and we exist as six billion unitary seeds in it, bounded by State membranes



musubi says it with flowers


Musubi is an art director, it seems, with little known about him/her/zir apart from a penchant for flowers. I’m kind of a huge fan of florals, perhaps I should develop some love for the fresh kind? Wikipedia tells me that in addition to being a popular Japanese sushilike snack (with a disgusting sounding Spam version in Hawaii), “Musubi is the mystical power of becoming or of creation in Shinto”. I should be writing a paper on possibly becoming dehumanised – perhaps something to work in? I wonder if every culture has its own concepts of becoming – there’s definite similarities in at least Hinduisms and probably others too. Also who it was that first started spinning about becoming before D+G – would it be Hegel? D+G as in Deleuze and Guattari that is, not Dolce and Gabbana – although come to think of it they do have quite the hyperglam factor in academia. I reckon it would be quite fun to try illustrating A Thousand Plateaus with couture outfits, one for each or each concept perhaps?

In the beginning was the language, and the language was gravity



Alice gets down



So while I normally never get excited about things like this, these Denise Grunstein pictures found at the artist and his model have actually gotten me thinking about this Friday. Alice in Wonderland is definitely among the trippiest of Disney movies, and is supposed to be fairly revolutionary in original author Lewis Carroll’s hiding of complex and forbidden mathematics equations in it (doesn’t that sound dramatic, now). At that, I’m rather eager to see (Czech surrealist) Jan Svankmajer’s take on it. Of it, he has infamously said that “Carroll is an illustration of the fact that children are better understood by pedophiliacs than by pedagogues.” Perhaps for fascinatingly, he has equally said that “childhood is my alter-ego.” The Disney version was decidedly saccharine, but it has been otherwise immortalised in Charles Manson’s famous quote,

We’re not in Wonderland anymore, Alice.

At that, I’m reminded of the Weather Underground’s infamous co-option and support of Manson’s rhetoric (later to be much regretted) at the 1969 ‘War Council’ in Flint, Michigan (in which they also repped Captain Ahab). In which Bernadine Dohrn (re: the 1968 Tate – La Bianca murders) was said to have exclaimed,

“Dig it; first they killed those pigs, then they ate dinner in the room with them, then they even shoved a fork into pig Tate’s stomach. Wild!”.

Pigs – of the farm or capitalist variety – seem to show up a lot here ouf. Perhaps it was the growing up in a Muslim country lack of pig love? Baby pigs are kind of cute. But then again, all small/fluffy animals or things probably are. Anyway, the quote’s from a really interesting chapter, ‘Excesses and Limits’, in Jeremy Varon’s Bringing the War Home: The Weather Underground, the Red Army Faction, and Revolutionary Violence in the Sixties and Seventies, especially re: the place of violence in the movement. Even if you’re not an SDS kid, promise!

Although there’s the mad fun of cards and tea (a little teapot, short and stout perhaps?) I’m rather drawn to being the twitchy pattery white rabbit (does it have any other names?) that Alice follows down the rabbithole. Mainly because this allows me to wear a tophat (or perhaps a bowler, for want of one) a BOWTIE (or perhaps even several, à la flying saucer, but most importantly for the most excellent Flava Flav-ish shiny purple jacket printed with stopwatches that I found in a Long Island thrift store. It’s rather warm though.

Though it could also be wonderful to wear one of those mirrors that distort shape, making you bulge or shrink concavely, going as those ‘drink me’ bottles of course. Seems like it would be kind of heavy though. And with the weather being what it is and the location secret until the day-of, perhaps it wouldn’t go amiss to rethink this too, ouf. In other rabbitish inspiration, I love these pictures from a masked opera and ballet rendition of the story respectively:

And while trawling for more white rabbit pics, I also came across these lovely ones from a 2003 editorial replete with more pigs and bowties (via foto_decadent)


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